


Kiss the Past Goodbye

by FinAmour



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Accidental Kissing, BAMF John, Bullying, But he redeems himself, First Kiss, Flirting, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Original characters who are really shitty, Prompt Fic, Protective John, References to Sherlock's past, Sherlock is sad, but John takes care of it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-03-07 00:34:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13422942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FinAmour/pseuds/FinAmour
Summary: John and Sherlock are minding their own business at dinner one night when they run into some classmates from Sherlock’s past.And we learn that there is really not much John wouldn’t do to protect Sherlock’s honour.Adapted from a prompt given to me by a friend- in which people are saying rude things to Sherlock, and John kisses him to shut them up.





	Kiss the Past Goodbye

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KaylieghLock1986](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaylieghLock1986/gifts).



The night’s case ends in typical fashion.

John’s appetite having been worked up after dashing about London, the two are dining at their favourite Chinese restaurant. Sherlock, who seldom eats, is half-heartedly picking at a platter of steamed dumplings. The light is dim and the scent of ginger and cloves wafts through the air as the two, between bouts of subdued laughter, reminisce about the events of the evening.

John absolutely _lives_ for nights like these- the exhilaration of a case compounded with the gamut of Sherlock’s best moods. He is able to witness not only the incredible genius of on-case Sherlock, but also the carefree man he becomes for a few hours immediately afterwards. There is no stress pouring into their lives, and no boredom from the inevitable “lack-of-work” ennui. They are free to just coexist, without a care in the world. On these nights, life becomes pleasantly simple.

“I can honestly say,” John asserts between bites of chow mein, “that I’ll never get over the mental image of you trying to outrun a man in a banana suit.”

Sherlock arches an eyebrow at him, but his embarrassment is immediately apparent in the way he bites softly onto his lower lip. ”Forgivable, I suppose, as long as you aren’t planning to detail this experience on your blog.”

John rests his face in his hand and grins. “Are you joking? Sherlock Holmes chasing a giant banana. Of course I’m going to document it. Pictures and everything.”

“Delete them,” Sherlock demands, pretending to be deeply offended. “Delete them now.”

“Not a chance.”

Sherlock narrows his eyes into a glare. He swipes his hand toward John’s in an attempt to snatch his mobile, but it is hastily pocketed before he can take hold.

Sherlock groans. “Do a write up if you must. But no pictures, I beg of you.”

John takes another bite of his noodles. “Dinner’s on _you_ tonight, then. And I’ll _consider_ it,” He smiles pleasantly, daring Sherlock to argue.

Sherlock rolls his eyes and huffs in annoyance. “You act as though I won’t simply wait until you’re not with your phone and delete them myself.”

“And what if I’ve already uploaded them?”

“ _John_.”

“I’m joking, I'm joking,” John chuckles. “Anyway,” he says, raising his glass of rice wine into the air. “Well done on the case, Sherlock. You were amazing, as usual.”

In one of those rare moments that John secretly loves, Sherlock’s face softens into a grateful smile. “And I couldn’t have done it without you. As usual.”

They lock eyes, and John can feel his face flush the tiniest bit at his words- surely a result of the wine. He tries searching for something to say in response, but fails, so he simply swallows another sip of his drink.

“You’re welcome,” he finally manages, but he is unsure of whether Sherlock has heard.

The mood suddenly shifts as Sherlock’s eyes dart away from him and settle elsewhere in the room. The detective’s expression inexplicably darkens, and John senses that something isn’t right.

It’s an expression that John has observed before- the one Sherlock gets when he’s just seen someone he does not want to see. And it isn’t the usual annoyed expression he dons when Mycroft is present- it’s more than that. This is unquestionably someone he despises.

"Sherlock? Everything alright?" he asks warily.

Before Sherlock can respond, a boisterous voice calls out from behind John.

“Holmes? Sherlock bloody Holmes, is that you?”

“Oh, good.” Sherlock mumbles. “The idiot brigade has arrived.”

John isn’t fooled by Sherlock's effort to remain unaffected. He turns his head just in time to observe three men approaching their table. One is tall with blond hair and a neatly-trimmed goatee; another is round, with tiny eyes and a striped tie; the third is brown-haired with greying temples and is wearing dark rimmed glasses. They appear to be the quintessential businessmen; hair slicked back, donning business suits and wolves’ grins. They are all approximately Sherlock’s age, but look as though they could never have walked the same Earth as him.

Though they don’t seem violent or dangerous, Sherlock definitely has the sort of reaction that causes John to wonder if they had somehow scarred him in a different way.

“Holmes!” The blond man repeats, treading directly up to Sherlock and patting him on the back in an audacious manner. “How long has it been, exactly?”

“ _Edward_ ,” Sherlock responds coolly. “Not long enough, I’m afraid.” He reluctantly lifts his eyes to the other two men. “Brian,” he mumbles, his gaze piercing into the bespectacled man with disdain. “Are you sure that you should be in a restaurant that serves alcohol so soon after your recent stint to rehab?”

John grimaces at Sherlock’s preliminary deduction of the man, not completely sure of what type of reaction to expect from the three unwelcome strangers, but to his surprise, they simultaneously burst into laughter.

“Haven’t changed a bit since uni, I see!” the portly man says. "Still on with your clever little tricks!”

_Uni_ , John thinks, and his memory flashes back to a case from when he and Sherlock first met. They had been visiting a former classmate of his, Sebastian Wilkes, at a major bank. Up until then, John had known Sherlock to be a man of extreme pride, never missing an opportunity to reveal his genius to others, nor backing down when he believed himself to be right (which was almost always).

Yet that all seemed to change around Sebastian. When Sebastian mentioned how people at uni had hated Sherlock for his ability to deduce, Sherlock had simply gone quiet, even downplaying his own abilities. Sebastian had seemed to have a strange hold over Sherlock that John hadn’t seen before and hasn’t seen since.

At the time, John hadn't given it a second thought. Now, though, it occurs to him how irksome it is. Why had Sherlock acted that way? Were these memories of the past truly so painful that he couldn't even bear to face them?

Sherlock had never really been open with John about his life before the two of them met, and John had never asked. From what he has gathered from those who knew him before, it was not a happy time for him- and John is starting to think he may be able to figure out, at least partially, why that is.

_We need to get out of here,_ John thinks, and he continues to watch Sherlock, searching for some type of cue from him. When Sherlock finally returns his gaze, though, he silently mouths: “It’s fine, John.” John isn’t entirely convinced, but he has no time to argue as the men pull up three chairs and seat themselves next to their table.

“Sherlock, are you gonna introduce us?” Striped Tie inquires, gesturing toward John as he takes a seat.

“Doctor John Watson,” John offers, nodding politely. “Sherlock’s friend.”

Once more, the men erupt into laughter, and John finds he does not like it at all.

The blond man takes John’s hand and shakes it firmly. It is cold and clammy. “I’m Edward. This here is Drew.” He points to the portly man. “And Brian.” The man with the glasses nods.

“As you’ve probably gathered,” the man called Drew says between sips of beer, “We were Holmes’ classmates back at Cambridge.”

“Ah,” John responds curtly, hoping that this might open up the conversation for Sherlock, but he only continues to stare blankly at the table.

“So. Sherlock’s friend, eh?” Brian inquires with an expression of amusement and disbelief. “That’s… interesting.”

“The Sherlock we knew wasn’t exactly the type to have friends,” Drew concedes. “You must be a saint.”

John opens his mouth to say something, but before he can, is interrupted by Edward.

“This man…a proper genius, yeah? But he doesn’t exactly let people forget about it, does he?”

Sherlock huffs.

“Everyone at Cambridge positively HATED him,” Drew says. “Regularly got his arse kicked.”

“Does he do that thing with you, Doctor Watson?” Brian inquires. “The thing where he reads you like some bloody fortune teller?”

“Yes. He does,” John says through a forced smile. “I find it quite brilliant, actually.”

John’s statement is met with even more laughter, and Sherlock purses his lips together uncomfortably.

John cannot begin to fathom the audacity of these men, and the anger begins to build. He deliberately does not make eye contact with them, instead keeping his eyes unflinchingly on Sherlock’s face. Sherlock is sulking in silence, and John has never felt such awkwardness on another person’s behalf.

”How nice that Sherlock’s got a friend now,” Brian chimes in. “Back then, nobody would even come near him. We tried to help him, but he just kept scaring people off!”

“I didn’t need your help,” Sherlock grumbles. “I had no interest in forming relationships, as I reiterated many times.”

“Oh, we know.” Edward throws a knowing glance at John. “He tried to play this brooding isolationist act, but he couldn’t fool us. Nobody _chooses_ to be alone like that.”

John’s heart breaks a little at these words. He can see just how difficult it must have been for Sherlock, to be thrown into adulthood immediately isolated, bullied and insulted for simply being who he was. It’s really no wonder he eventually lost interest in getting close to others, in love or attachment of any kind, because so many people, apparently, never took the time to try to understand him.

Until he met John, that is. And although John can’t fix Sherlock’s past, he can certainly deal with some of the demons.

So he takes a deep breath, calmly turns to the three men, and does just that.

“Listen closely, because I am only going to say this once,” he says evenly. “You lot _clearly_ do not know the first thing about Sherlock.”

Edward opens his mouth to speak, but John lifts a hand in the air to stop him. “I’m not finished, Edward," he snaps.

“Sherlock is an amazing human, in every sense of the word. He might be a bit rough around the edges, and can be pompous and-“ John hesitates- “That doesn’t mean he doesn’t have a good heart. I honestly don’t know where I would be without him. He is a kind and generous person who uses his gift to help others, often without asking for anything in return. And I guarantee that if you ever needed his help, he’d be there for you, though you are far from deserving of that.”

John pauses, regarding the three men sitting next to them. They simply sit there in silence, stunned for a moment, until Edward finally speaks. “Don’t know what we’d ever need his help for,” he huffs. “If we were ever-“

John raises his hand once again to interrupt, his voice louder this time. “I _told_ you, Edward, I am not finished yet," he says through gritted teeth.

"I don’t know who the _hell_ you think you are, coming to _our_ table during _our_ dinner only to disrespect us. But Sherlock’s past is over with, and that includes you wankers, so I suggest you _piss_   _off_.”  

The last two words are biting, and John’s lips twitch as he attempts to steady his breath. He steals a glance at Sherlock, who is staring back with a mixture of astonishment and amusement.

And before anyone can respond, Sherlock jumps in. “Thank you, John,” he says quickly. And it’s as though John’s tirade has flipped a switch in him- he seemingly becomes filled with a renewed sense of pride. He turns to face the three men, his eyes blazing and his brain fully geared.

Which could only mean one thing, John thinks: _deductions incoming_. Oh, God.

“Sherlock, don’t-“ John whispers softly, but it’s already too late.

“Edward, married last year, correct?” Sherlock begins. “I assume she hasn’t looked at your credit card statements, or she would be able to see the bills from the hotel rooms you’re staying at with your very young boyfriend.”

“Brian. Your alcohol and gambling addiction have put you into a six figure debt, and a double bankruptcy. You really shouldn’t be out buying drinks right now, for multiple reasons.”

“Drew. You lost your job three months ago because you were stealing from your company, a fact that you have yet to inform your family of, and your friends, too. Sorry to be the one to break it to them. Actually, no, I’m not.”

Sherlock inhales and exhales calmly, flashing a cheeky grin at the men, and then up at John.

Unsurprisingly, the three men do not take this well.

“Listen, you utter arse,” Drew snarls. “My life might not be perfect, but at least I’m not a bloody psychopath. You might have a ‘friend’ now, but do you think that’s going to last? At the end of the day, I’ve got someone at home who loves me. Do you think you’ll ever meet someone who can stand to be around you, touch you, love you, become attached to you before you scare them off like you’ve done everyone else? I can tell you, with absolute certainty, that you will not.”

These words seem to hit Sherlock like a hammer. His face darkens once more, and he is unable to utter a response.

The anger now pulses through John’s veins, and he feels the overwhelming desire to put these men in their place- to prove them wrong. He doesn’t think about what he is going to do, he simply does what feels right in the moment. He pushes his shoulders back and shoots a glare at Drew. “I’m afraid you’re wrong there too, mate."

Reaching across the table, John grabs Sherlock by the lapels of his coat and pulls him in, pressing his lips onto his.

He knows it’s a rash and possibly unwise decision, though that doesn’t stop him. What he isn’t expecting is for Sherlock to kiss him back. It’s not an immediate response- his body stiffens at first, a whimper of surprise emerging from his throat. But his lips quickly become pliant against John’s, and he reaches out, cupping his face in his hands. John isn’t sure if it’s the rice wine or the suppressed anger lowering his inhibitions, but he doesn’t question it- simply giving in to the heat of the moment. He places his hands behind Sherlock’s head, pressing into him and deepening the kiss.

Soon, they forget everyone and everything around them, kissing one another fiercely as though they are the air one another breathes. It takes several moments for John to come to his senses, and when he does, he pulls away, immediately looking into Sherlock’s eyes. He is panting, his eyes widened in shock, his lips reddened from the kiss.

John clears his throat and throws a glance back toward the three men, who are gaping at them, mouths open.

And Sherlock grins from ear to ear.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” John nods, and he and Sherlock stand up to walk out the door, leaving the three other men with the bill.

———————————————————-

As they burst out of the restaurant, Sherlock several feet ahead, John quickens his pace to catch up. They eventually fall into step together, but Sherlock doesn’t say a thing, and John begins to worry that he may have made a mistake. They walk in silence, Sherlock’s hands stuffed into his pockets, coat blowing in the wind. John's stomach ties itself in knots. 

Once they approach the alleyway, though, Sherlock sharply turns the corner, leans against the wall, and dissolves into a fit of laughter. Relief spreads throughout John immediately.

“John, that was amazing,” he says. “Incredible. Did you see the looks on their faces?”

"Erm, yeah, that was pretty much the point," John replies, and he falls up against the wall next to Sherlock, joining him in huffs of laughter. They laugh and laugh, until they are deliriously leaning into each other, and suddenly, they find themselves in one another's arms, kissing again.

They continue to kiss for long moments, urgently, breathlessly, hands running over one another’s bodies. They lose track of time, and Sherlock finally leans away to take a breath. He presses his lips up and down John’s jaw before resting his head on his shoulder and grinning to himself.

“You are always like this, John,” he says. “Why?”

John raises an eyebrow and turns his face to bury it in Sherlock’s hair. “Like what, exactly?” 

“You always seem to care so much about what people think of me.”

“Well, they were arseholes and needed to be taught a lesson.”

Sherlock tilts his head, smiling into John’s neck. “So is it normal for you to defend a person’s honour by kissing them?”

John breathes in quietly, closing his eyes. “No, Sherlock.” He presses a kiss into his soft curls. “Only you.”

**Author's Note:**

> The banana suit is a tribute to Twitter Bananagate 2017. If you know what that is, consider yourself blessed ;)


End file.
